


Lavendar and Old Lace

by Pimento



Series: Feelings Catalogue [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Related, Case Fic, Castiel/Dean Winchester Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Purgatory, Reunions, Season/Series 07, Smut, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5842366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Season 7, Castiel has turned his back on heaven, and decided to become a hunter, they overnight in a small town, but a Winchester ends up in big trouble and it is up to the rest of Team Free Will to save him, before it's too late, aided by a Grandma and a five year old girl.</p><p>Please take the time to leave me some feedback, good or bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of Purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was sick of the word ‘fine’. Even Cas seemed to have caught it. Too much time with Dean, obviously. Lord knew, his brother was crap at relationships, but surely an angel should be able to manage things a bit better.
> 
> Sam shook his head in mild frustration as he unpacked his bag. He would quite like to clap a hand cuff on each of them, shove them into Bobby’s old bunker room and leave them there until they either fucked or killed each other.

***********************************************************************************************************************

He dreamt of purgatory most nights.

Sam gave him ‘that’ look most days.

He suppressed the emotions every waking minute.

Most of his nightmares were running, fighting and blood spatter, but the worst… the one that left his face wet and his sheets soaked in sweat when he awoke, was the moment their arms parted, as he stood astride the portal, and it closed in fiery turbulence. That last image of huge sorrowful eyes, watching him from within that grimed and bearded face, and the echo of his name, still there as he opened his eyes.

There was no reprieve, nothing that eased the pain, the guilt and the self-loathing. It churned inside him. Even keeping his promise to Benny, and the bond built in the cold, vast scrap that was purgatory did nothing to plug the void in his soul.

He would not admit it to himself, but this was worse than when he had lost Sammy. Worse because the blame was all his. He had let go, he had let Cas fall back. He hadn’t been strong enough… and round and round the torment went. So he did what he always did when emotions burned him. He shut them down, focussed on the job, routine, and the small wins, because the only other option was to cease to exist, and that wasn’t happening anytime soon. He held his sense of duty, as his only source of redemption and followed it.

Sam had watched on pensive and alert. Forever aware, his Dean in Torment Sense, jangling like his own personal spideysense. He knew all he could do was watch, ask when he thought he might get an answer and be prepared for the onslaught of emotion and destructiveness that the grief would unleash when it ultimately came.

**********************************************************************************************************************

Then one morning, the rustle of feathers was real, Cas was real. Dean’s relief was short-lived. This could not be real, and if it was, what fucked-up fresh hell had made it so. Nothing good ever came into his life, without a massive cost somewhere along the line. This would be no different. He drew back from the little kernel of happiness. It was not possible. There was no way that Cas could be here.

And then there he stood, clean and fresh. “Better?” And his heart gave the familiar little skip, and he wanted to take the win. 

Cas could sense the pain and the depression that oozed from every pore. He had tried so hard to reach Dean. Each time he had been unable to get through. He was back, and he had missed being here, every little aspect of this world he loved so much, mainly because it contained the man he loved so much. He glanced at him, when he thought Dean wasn’t looking. Worry etched the face, weariness dragged at his limbs and Cas longed to see that familiar smirk, or a hint of wisecrack.

How could he tell him, that he had needed to stay in Purgatory, needed to take his punishment. He had tried so many times while they were there, but each time Dean shut him down, and he couldn’t bear to leave him, or break his faith again. So, as ever, he followed and he waited. Now he knew, Dean blamed himself, thought it was his fault. He would make amends. No matter what it cost, Cas would make it right, and he would tell Dean everything. 

***********************************************************************************************

They had rescued Kevin Tran and the other prophets from Crowley, Dean had managed to push aside his anxiety, but was clearly still very disturbed by Cas' return. And then Cas had announced with a beaming simplistic smile that he was done with heaven and he was going to become a hunter. And Dean, had promptly decided that if he was joining them, there was none of this zapping around. So Cas was sat in the back of the car. Travelling with them. Everywhere they went.

Sam had to admit, they were both masters of denial and Dean was the supreme being when it came to making something he secretly wanted to happen seem like an imposition. So, he kept his own counsel, and watched from the sidelines with a mixture of mirth and irritation as the two danced around each other.

He was sick of the word ‘fine’. Even Cas seemed to have caught it. Too much time with Dean, obviously. Lord knew, his brother was crap at relationships, but surely an angel should be able to manage things a bit better.

Sam shook his head in mild frustration as he unpacked his bag. He would quite like to clap a hand cuff on each of them, shove them into Bobby’s old bunker room and leave them there until they either fucked or killed each other.

****************************************************************************************************************

It was supposed to be a stopover enroute to Tuskegee, the Smithson Family Motel with its cast iron veranda on the first floor, circled a rose garden, the bushes long since neglected and fighting for prominence with broken patio furniture and quite a few weeds. It had a decrepit grandeur and faded elegance, echoed in the sweet old lady who gave them their keys. She took an instant shine to Sam, winking at him, and promising to send him the ‘extra fluffy pillows’ on account of his ‘spectacular size, which necessitated superior furnishing to ensure his comfort.’ She rushed away from the desk in a cloud of face powder and lavender water, calling out “Amelia, Amelia,” in her high pitched soft southern drawl as she did so.

Dean clicked his cheek at his younger brother, enjoying his squirms of embarrassment. “Sammy, I think you may be sizing up to make little sons of Smithsons.”

Sam glowered at him and Cas, oblivious as ever said quietly, “Surely, she is too far past reproductive age, and they would be little sons of Sam…”

Dean chuckled, and patted Cas on the shoulder, ducking away from Sam, who would dearly have loved to box his brother's ears. They piled into adjacent rooms, specifically at Dean’s suggestion, so that Cas could wait out the night in a warded space, without watching them sleep in the same room. 

“Yeah right,” Sam thought, “of course that’s the reason.”

******************************************************************************************************************************* Dean stood in the room, freshly showered, and changed. The sound of running water in the shower, was cut off by the squeak of the shower tap, as Sam emerged wrapped in a towel. “Sammy, come on, hurry up, I’m hungry… surf and turf’s a calling.”

There was a polite knock at the door, and he looked up from fastening his watch with an exaggerated sigh, and glanced at his brother with a twisted smirk. He darted towards the door, saying over his shoulder, “Come on Sammy, even Cas is ready to go…”the words died in his throat as the door swung open in his hand and one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen stood framed by the light of the setting sun, her blonde hair shone with a halo effect, and he swallowed hard, “Well hello, beautiful” he drawled, she smiled at him, as she bustled past him arms full of pillows. He gave Sam a meaningful look, as he checked out the rear view.

She glanced at Dean and then back at Sam, dripping onto the floor and gripping the towel defensively at his waist. Her embarrassment was clear from the very becoming blush and the dip of her head. “I’m so sorry,” she almost whispered, in the soft southern accent of the locals. “I had no idea you were indisposed, I never would have burst in like this.”  
Sam pulled a face of irritation at Dean, baring his teeth. “Please, don’t worry. My brother was just leaving and we didn’t hear you knock…”

She looked up at him bashfully, from under long, long lashes which framed large almond eyes.

Dean posted a thumbs up, at Sam who continued to give him evils over her head, turned from the doorway and slammed into Cas, who was as he ever seemed to be, to close, and awkwardly, right where Dean needed to walk. The door slammed shut on his room, as he snapped. “Dammit Cas.”

Cas bit his lip thoughtfully, and looked up with a look of sad trepidation. Dean read his face, with a look of exasperation.

“Oh no,” Dean said, “What have you done this time? Found another cat to interrogate?”

*****************************************************************************************************************

The steakhouse was noisy and busy. Dean was enjoying the good ol’ fashioned southern hospitality a little too much. He was on his fifth or sixth beer, and they had been there less than an hour. Cas was fidgeting.

“It’s a stop over, Cas, a chance to relax, eat, sleep, maybe get a little action.” The sad and depressed little look made him add quickly, “Hustling action. There is nothing going on here. No news reports, no disappearances, nothing.”

“But Dean, something is wrong, I can … I can feel it.”

“Cas, you don’t have to prove yourself, you’ve been a hunter all of five minutes. Not every town has to be a case.” Cas sighed, and looked pensive. “Stop worrying.” Dean said, looking back over his shoulder to the specials board. “Where the hell is Sam I’m getting ‘hangry’ and I guarantee you won’t like me when I’m ‘hangry’.”

 

*****************************************************************************************************************

Sam was being charmed. He knew he was being charmed, but he was enjoying himself. She was sweet and funny. A little coquettish perhaps, but she had disregarded Dean in an instant, which was always a bonus. She had been very polite about it, but the smile and slightly dismissive glance she had given him as he tried his best pick up smile on her, had said it all.

“Do you need anything else, Mr Gibbons?”

“Call me Sam, please.” He could not bring himself to actually tell her a lie, not right to her face. It would just be so rude. “And no, thankyou, this is already very kind of you.”

“Will you be staying long?” she asked, “In town, I mean. We don’t get so many visitors these days.” Her voice was sweet and melodic. Sam was sure he could listen to its song like quality for hours, without ever getting bored.

“Just an overnight,” he smiled.

“Pity,” she said softly.

“Listen,” Sam said suddenly, feeling that he did not want her to leave. “I know it’s short notice, and … definitely say no if you don’t want to, but erm… would you like to go to dinner with me. The company would be so pleasant.”

“I’d love to Sam, but I think,” she lowered her eyes, and her cheeks flushed a delicate rose colour, “you’d better put some clothes on.”

“Oh right, yes, yes, good point. Clothes.”

“I’ll wait right outside.”

*********************************************************************************************************************************

His phone bleeped and Dean scowled. A text from Sam GOING OUT TO DINNER, DON’T WAIT.

“Fan-fricking-tastic, he keeps me waiting 30 minutes, and then I get a rain check. Let’s order, I’m starving.”

Cas picked up his beer and winked. “Just us then, the boys are back in town.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, then grunted grudgingly. “I guess.” They chinked bottles and drank on. “So,” Dean shifted in his seat and turned his full attention to Cas, “What’s new in the world of Columbo, 'the angel years'?”


	2. Ella Mae finds herself 'a angel'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “D’you know you have really, really blue eyes.”
> 
> “Yes, they came that way.”
> 
> He couldn’t just zap them into the room, Dean didn’t like being zapped. He preferred to poop apparently.

Castiel had enjoyed himself, was still enjoying himself as they made their way back to the motel from the steak house. It felt good to slip back into easy companionship with Dean. He knew that at least 50% of the time, Dean was laughing at him , but he didn’t care, because Dean was laughing and that was all that mattered to Cas. Dean was drunk, and the light hearted mirth was contagious. Cas was happy, an emotion he’d catalogued less than he’d like, and nearly always in Dean’s company. Castiel loved the upward sensation at the corners of his mouth and the way it made tiny crinkles around his eyes. Humans underestimated just how lucky they were. Smiling, when it came from pure happiness, was an amazing thing.

He staggered slightly under the weight of Dean’s arm around his shoulders, as he swung his other arm expansively, bottle in hand, making some half sensible point about Sam, and how difficult it was to be the big brother all the time, before swigging at his beer.

“And another thing…” he began.

Cas hitched him over the edge of the veranda, not sure that Dean would even notice, that it was the hard iron that stopped him pitching over and not Cas. He fished in Dean’s jean pocket for his room key.

“Whoa there, Tiger,” Dean slurred. “S’bin a while. But donnae normly get a kiss first.” He grabbed drunkenly at the collar of the trench coat, bottle still in hand, it’s contents dribbling down Cas’ front. The sloppy, malty kiss squelched loudly in Cas’ ear as Dean missed his mark by some margin. “Stop movin’ ‘bout.”

“Dean” Cas tried for a stern tone to get his attention. “Dean, where’s your key?” The green eyes were barely focussing now, as Dean tried to stare at Cas.

“D’you know you have really, really blue eyes.”

“Yes, they came that way.” He couldn’t just zap them into the room, Dean didn’t like being zapped. He preferred to poop apparently.

Rolling his eyes in a gesture he had learnt through long hours spent with the Winchesters, and which Sam ascribed to being the result of Deanitus, he fumbled in a pocket and drew out his own key, to the room adjacent. Scraping Dean from the railings, he lumbered him to the door, and after two or three attempts he unlocked it and they crashed through it.

Dean pitched forwards onto the room’s only bed. Snoring almost instantly. Beer bottle still aloft in his hand. Cas took it gently and set it on the night stand. He tugged Dean’s laces loose and pulled his boots from his feet, before gently covering him with a blanket and perching awkwardly on what remained of the bed.

He heard something bleeping and saw that Dean’s phone had fallen to the floor. He picked it up read the message from Sam, his brow furrowing and forming shadows on his face in the eerie blue glow of the screenlight.

HAD TO LEAVE URGENTLY SEE YOU IN TUSKEGEE. DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME, SAM. XX

This was not right. Cas gave a small growl of irritation. “Why will they never listen to me?” he said to himself. Anger and frustration, now they were emotions he knew all too well, spending time with Dean. “I told him something was wrong in this town.”

He glanced at Dean, whose nose was pressed into the bed at an odd angle. Snoring and drooling, he was no use to anyone tonight. He scribbled a note, wedged it between the phone and the half full bottle and zapped with a feathery rustle to check the boy’s room. It confirmed his worst suspicions All Sam’s things were still here. He searched quickly, no phone, no bill fold, but everything else, it was all still here.

Hearing the key scratch into the lock, Cas felt a momentary surge. Relief. He hid himself automatically, feeling awkward about being caught snooping. But it was not Sam’s bulk and height filling the doorway. It was a much smaller, slighter figure all together. Cas’ nose wrinkled at the scent of lavender that filled the air. She moved quietly and easily, packing the bag with efficiency and selective care, removing every trace of Sam from the room. Cas watched quietly, determining to follow her when she left.

Even though he was watching invisibly, he kept to the long shadow of the corner of the room. So he was taken utterly by surprise, when she turned, raised her hands, pointing one long finger directly at him and spoke in perfect Enochian. The fiery pain burst through his chest and ripped at him, a tug at his core as if someone had pulled a grappling hook through his stomach and out through his back and in a seering, blazing whirl of pain he was transported by the curse.

**********************************************************************************************************************

The distinctive tang of iron, not blood, hematite, millennia old particulates of rock, and the remnants of long dead plants… and other things, then ughhh, the wriggle of millions of tiny bacteria. He pushed himself up and spat the soil from his mouth. He raised his head over the edge of the dip he lay in. He could hear buzzing, and looked around confused for the giant insect making the noise, before he realised he could also sense vibration. Dirty red fingers closed over the cool plastic in his pocket. The screen was flashing. Dean. 

“Hello,” he said, voice literally more gravelly than usual. He coughed, he need water.

“Cas, what the fuck?”

***************************************************************************************************************************

The light hitting his blood shot eyes, pierced his brain like red hot pokers. His cheek was stuck to the sheet with his own wet drool, and he wiped it away quickly glancing around, expecting some sarcastic remark from Sam. But where the other bed, should have been was empty space, and the room was the wrong way round. His thoughts slowly caught up. He was in Cas’ room. Fuck. He felt himself quickly, fully dressed. He listened, silence, except for distant outside noises. He was alone. A bleary eye focussed on the nightstand, and zoned in on the paper propped against the phone. The spidery scrawl across it.

He lifted himself gingerly from the bed, the pain of moving shredding his head. As hangovers went, and man, he had plenty of material for comparison, this was a doozy. Sketchy memories of the night before floated into his mind, and he gave a little half smile, in spite of his tender state. Cas and he out on the town together, like old times.

He read the note, and dialled. “Cas, what the fuck?”

*****************************************************************************************************************************

Ella Mae skipped through the long wet grass, which whipped against her bony little legs. She had found herself an angel. She was on the way back to tell Gramma. Her dolly clutched tightly under her arm. The angel lay in a big old dent in the field behind the big red barn.

She hopped up the steps of the porch, and pushing the battered old screen door open, hopscotched across the grained black and white tiles of the hallway and trotted into the kitchen.

She tugged impatiently at Gramma’s aproned skirt. “Gramma, I found a angel. I knows it’s a angel, cos it’s got big wings, but it’s awful durdy.”  
Gramma’s wrinkled face cracked into a big smile. She scooped the child up and cuddled her tight, laughing at whatever this latest game might be. “Well, Ella Mae, you best show me.” She dropped the little girl down, dusted flour from her hands and let herself be tugged along by the excited child. She had no idea what to expect, but the dishevelled figure, stained by the deep red soil of the back field, looked more demonic than angelic. He was walking stiffly around the corner of the big barn, talking on a cell.

***********************************************************************************************************************************

“Cas, what the fuck? Where the hell are you?”

“In a field.”

“A field?”

“Yes, a field.” He picked himself up and stood wobbling slightly, his core hurt. He saw a barn at the edge of the field, and began to walk towards it.

“A field where?”

“Judging by the soil composition… the levels of hematite are quite specific to this region...I would guess…”

“Cas, quit the geology lecture, where exactly are you?”

“North Carolina.” He could sense that Dean was screwing up his eyes and pinching his nose. It was something he did often when Cas drove him to distraction and he was fighting to keep his patience. The irritated tone of his next comment was mere confirmation for Cas, that he was, yet again and unintentionally, being an annoying dick.

“Cas, a little more specific would be helpful.”

Cas paused, wanting more than anything to be helpful, but as ever not sure what was best. “I can’t be more specific, Dean. I don’t know exactly where I am, I don’t even know how I got here.”

“Your note, Cas,” there was worry in his voice and he sounded tired. “Sam’s in trouble!? You thought enough so last night to go looking for him. Now zap back here ASAP and let’s get cracking.”

Cas frowned. “I can’t zap, even if I knew where you were.”

“I’m in your motel room, where you left me. And whadya mean you can't zap?”

Cas blinked in confusion. Why was Dean in his motel room? He didn’t even have a motel room… Did he? He rounded the corner of the barn.

“Er Dean, I have to go, I’ll call in a minute.”

Dean stared at the phone, Cas had cut him off. He rocked back over the bed a wave of nausea hitting him like a truck. The belch filling his mouth with the bitter taste of a night of excess.

He leant back against the cold metal bed frame, and scrolled back through a series of increasingly unsamlike texts. They rarely sent each other texts, it was easier to talk. He read on in increasing alarm. None of these messages was from Sam, of that he was absolutely certain. His phone rang.

*********************************************************************************************************************

The reddish stained water swirled over the white porcelain as Cas washed his hands in the huge old sink. Ella Mae peered at Cas through the open window from her perch in the dogwood tree outside. He waved his fingers at her, before looking back over his shoulder as Mrs Maddox knocked briefly and opened the door. She handed him a towel in her no nonsense fashion and nodded to the bathroom.

Cas had a thing for showers. He loved them. When you sense everything all at once, the sensory overload of a hot shower is a thing of beauty. He stood under the stinging hot needles of water, remembering the revelation of his first shower in a log cabin in the woods, but that lead to thinking about what happened after he got out of the shower. The image of Dean that morning swam through his mind, but he pushed it away. He really didn’t have time to think about that now.

With deep reluctance, he turned the enormous brass tap and shut off the glorious flow, wrapping himself in the huge towel and climbing over the rolled top of the cast iron bath, onto painted boards. His crumpled clothes had disappeared from the floor of the adjacent bedroom where he had left them, and a neat little pile of folded items sat on the dresser. He smiled, appreciative of the kindness.

**********************************************************************************************************

Baby’s chrome bumper was barely clearing the ground in places along the rutted farm track, as Dean slowly but surely guided her over the rough surface. By the time he had reached the Maddox farmstead miles out of town, the raging hangover had dulled from factor 10 to about a 5 and the nausea had passed. His mouth still felt like a cage of rats, despite brushing his teeth for an age, but he felt far less brittle.

The house was impressive, beautiful even, huge trees dappling it’s white clapperboard walls with leafy shade and black shutters framing the windows, it shared the same faded grandeur that seemed the hallmark of the entire town. Dean tapped the wheel in time to La Grange, ZZ Top, and pulled to a halt. He climbed out, hearing the cicada song in the sudden quiet.

Cas glanced up, he was talking quietly, seated in a white whicker chair on the sweeping veranda, and gave Dean the benefit of that blinding beautiful smile. His bright blue eyes blazing in the sunshine even at a distance. Dean smiled back, laughter creasing his face, even though his heart was heavy with worry, Cas was clearly in borrowed clothes, right down to the neat waistcoat and bow tie. Dean had to admit, he looked sharp, if a little out of his comfort zone.

It was then that Dean noticed the child rocking on the porch swing. She was gazing adoringly at Cas, utterly absorbed in their conversation. She was perfect as a china doll, soft golden ringlets of hair framing a cherubic face, wide eyes, a perfect cupid’s bow of palest pink, and the bloom of her cheeks could have been painted by Michaelangelo himself.

She gave Dean a suspicious look as he climbed the steps towards them. Her eyes narrowing, he felt himself being scrutinised and judged. He tried his most winning smile, but she was having none of it. He could sense her contempt. Looking at her warily he pulled a chair and turned his attention to Cas.

“So, Mr Twain, care to elaborate on what the...

Cas gave him a slight warning glance, and flicked his eyes briefly to the child, who had returned her adoring gaze back to her angel.

At this point, Mrs Maddox, came bustling out of the screen door, a tray of gently chinking glass in her hands. Cas jumped to his feet and Dean moved to help her with the tray. “Iced tea,” she stated firmly. “Best cure for any ailment. Ya reckon?” She gave Dean an appraising look. “Even self inflicted." She turned her attention back to the child, “Ella Mae, I do believe it’s time for your bookwork.”

The child sighed, and grabbing a scrawny looking rag doll, she threw herself off the porch swing, and giving Cas one last long lingering look, she went indoors.  
Mrs Maddox casually lifted the jug and began to pour. “So, Dean Winchester, do you mind telling me, why I have a broken angel, with a huge gap in his memory, on my porch and a wing shaped crater in my back field. And don’t go fixin’ to lie to me either, boy, I can read your soul and the taint of purgatory is strong on the both of ya.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s up, Cas?”
> 
> “We are going to battle. I don’t… I want us to be…” Cas began awkwardly, and then clearing his throat he tried again. “I want to make us right…make things right between us before… we might not…”
> 
> Dean smirked. “Cas, are you really giving me the ‘last night on Earth’ speech?”

Sam was adrift in a sea of soft bedding. His head felt spongy and he couldn’t remember where he was. He could hear the steady tick of a very old clock. The unique sound of old cogs and a pendulum, slowly regulating time. He tried to move, and realised with a sense of distant interest that he couldn’t. His limbs seemed to belong to someone else, and his eyelids were too heavy to lift. Someone was humming softly, and he felt the bed dip subtly next to him. Gentle hands stroked his hair, and he relaxed back into sleep.

*******************************************************************************************************************

“Castiel, precious, why don’t you go and help Ella Mae, she does find her history assignments such a trial, and you have so much practical experience to lend.”

Mrs Maddox, smiled at them both. Dean looked confused, bless his heart. She patted his denim clad knee reassuringly, as Cas silently obeyed her directions. “You really mustn’t try so hard to think, Dean dear. It really isn’t your strong suit. And really, must you always work so hard at ignoring your feelings. If I had someone that adorable at my beck and call, I wouldn’t be wasting my time sulking about who let go of who on the way out of purgatory. He’s an angel, figuratively and literally.”

Dean scowled briefly, before blinking his surprise as she squeezed his knee a little harder. “He will always be driven by duty and obedience, but lucky old you, you are at his core. You really must try and be a bit more understanding, after all he forgives you over and over, no matter how stupidly you behave.”

“I’ve tried to recover his memory of yesterday, but it’s all gone, wiped clean. His last conscious thought was the overwhelming need to find you. It seems to be a common theme. Someone has been messing about inside that beautiful mind, there are shields and scars a plenty in there. Close your mouth, dear, it’s most unattractive when you gape like that.” Dean obediently snapped his mouth shut, surprise and discomfort registering on his face.

“Drink your tea, it will clear that nasty little hangover, and then you can talk me through yesterday from the very beginning, and I’ll watch as we go along and see what you’ve missed.” Dean was already reaching for the glass, before he made a conscious decision to do as he was told.

************************************************************************************************************************

Ella Mae and Castiel were utterly engrossed in the book on ancient Rome. It was an advanced topic for such a young child, but Ella Mae, seemed well versed. They sat heads almost touching, poring over pictures of Gods and Goddesses. A vague suspicion that the choice of subject was not entirely random was stirring in Castiel’s mind.

Mrs Maddox was wise even beyond her apparent years, and Cas could sense her antiquity, even though he could not tell much else. Someone had seriously clipped his wings. To an extent, he didn’t really mind. He’d been here before and human or angel, so long as Dean was near, safe and at least part way to being his friend, he could deal with anything. Finding Sam was his priority, because that would make Dean happy.

Cas sighed contentedly. Ella Mae, slipped her thumb into her mouth and leant against his shoulder. Now what was he just thinking, the thought slipped away from him, like a word on the tip of your tongue, or the name of an acquaintance you haven't seen for a long time.

******************************************************************************************************************* ****

Mrs Maddox stared at the handsome face in front of her, without really seeing him. “Her!” She might have guessed. But this was a step too far. Messing with a hunter. Her mouth set grimly. The sun was high in the sky now, two days until the new moon. Sun and moon together in the heavens. A day to plan and then, she had to try and put this right.

“Do you think this Amelia has done something to Sam?” The question brought her back sharply.

“No, Dean, not Amelia, Amelia is just a disguise.” He looked so handsome, with his furrowed brow, and total lack of understanding. She could see why the angel was so besotted. “She won’t harm him, not yet anyway. She wants him. I just hope he doesn’t try to refuse too much…”

Dean was not reassured, the one thing the big dumb ox did often was refuse advances. Sam's moral code was one of life’s unfathomable mysteries as far as Dean was concerned. Mrs Maddox, smiled indulgently at him. It was a shame he was destined to have such an awful time, and that he seemed doomed to self-sabotage the one little piece of happiness available to him. Stubbornly resisting that which was self-evident to any impartial observer. She pushed herself up from the table. He loaded up the tray and followed her into the house.

She was so used to the effect she had after all these years that sometimes she forgot to override the influence. It was why the solitude of the farmstead was so appealing, she could just ‘be’ out here. After dinner she would make one last little tweak and then she would release them to their own devices. She just hoped they would not waste what was potentially their last night together.

This might be the end for them all.

*******************************************************************************************************************

It was the best damned pie Dean had ever eaten. He looked fondly at Mrs Maddox, the woman was a genius. Ella Mae had fallen asleep, curled up in Castiel’s lap. Blonde curls twiddled idly into one hand, the other firmly gripping Cas’ wrist, even in her sleep, in case he tried to leave her. Mrs Maddox reached over and stroked the slumbering child’s head fondly. “Time for bed,” she announced. Castiel followed her out of the room, carrying Ella Mae.

Mrs Maddox drew back the child’s covers and moved aside a couple of stuffed owls, and they tucked her in. The little face temporarily distorting as Cas gently pulled her fingers away from his wrist, he smoothed the creases out of the high forehead and pressed two fingers to it.

“Giving her sweet dreams, Castiel?”

“She reminds me of…”

“Claire,” Mrs Maddox nodded. “That is more to do with your sense of guilt, than anything more than a passing resemblance. You should forgive yourself, Castiel. There is enough guilt and recrimination surrounding that poor boy. Now, go and make him forget everything. He needs you, he will resist it, but you must make him accept it. Tomorrow will not be an easy day, and he will face it better with a calm heart."

Cas nodded his assent, and glanced at her shyly, smiling. “Don’t waste your flirting on me. Tomorrow, we have work to do, tonight you can go do for your boy.”

***************************************************************************************************************

As ever, Dean sensed Castiel, before he actually saw him. He stood in the corner of the kitchen, with a strange look on his face. Dean pulled a face, and with more than a little reluctance pushed away the remains of his fourth piece of pie. Cheeks distorting as he cleaned the pastry from his gums, and drained his cup of iced tea.

“What’s up, Cas?”

“We are going to battle. I don’t… I want us to be…” Cas began awkwardly, and then clearing his throat he tried again. “I want to make us right…make things right between us before… we might not…”

Dean smirked. “Cas, are you really giving me the ‘last night on Earth’ speech?”

“After purgatory, after all that’s happened. Now you pull the speech, and I’m supposed to count my lucky stars and fall into your arms?”

Cas stared at his shoes, doing a passable impression of a naughty child. Dean shrugged his shoulders and stood up from the table, throwing down the napkin he used to wipe his mouth.

“I’m not angry with you Cas. I get it. Whatever you did, whatever you do, you always think you’re doing it for the right reasons. But there are times when you are wrong Cas, surely you learnt that from the Leviathan. You have to learn to trust your friends.”

“To trust me,” he added quietly, putting the flats of his hands onto Cas upper arms, pulling him square in front of him. “I never once lead you wrong when it really counted, did I? Punishing yourself by staying in purgatory, well that was just plain stupid. How did that benefit anybody? It’s self-indulgent crap. ‘I need to be punished.’ Well, that’s great. What about the things that were happening here? The things that you could have been fixing? The things you could have been helping with? The people you could save.”

“Look at me, Cas. Are you hearing what I’m saying to you?”

The face that lifted to meet his was wet. The blue eyes glistened with fresh tears. “Jesus, Cas, you’re crying?!”

Cas blinked, the sadness lifting into puzzlement, as he raised a hand to his face. He stared at his damp fingertips with a mixture of wonder and curiosity. “I…” he struggled for words, searching his inner catalogue for what he felt. “I’m sad… and happy…the conflict… and I’m grateful, and sorry… and my heart feels…” he squirmed awkwardly and touched his own chest “… swollen.”

He looked at Dean with real concern. “Am I sick?” Dean laughed and on impulse he kissed him.

 

Mrs Maddox, who had gently withdrawn her influence after sending Castiel to the kitchen, decided that watching anymore would tip into voyeurism, and she had other things to prepare.

 

The kiss was tentative. It always had surprised Castiel that Dean, who was so aggressive and accomplished as a hunter and fighter, could be so gentle and hesitant. He was utterly and totally confused by the maelstrom of emotions and feelings buzzing through him. It was sensory overload, the extreme sport version, inside his consciousness. So it was quite a relief to lose himself to pure physical sensations.

The initial fleeting brush of lips, soft and tender. The sweet taste of pie and iced tea, and the soft exploring tongue as the kiss deepened. The warmth of Dean’s strong fingers curling round his neck, massaging into the soft curls at the nape, pulling him ever closer and deeper. All of it fusing into a glorious warm, fuzzy core of arousal.

Their mouths parted with a subtle pop, but Dean did not loosen his hold. They stood foreheads touching, breathing each other’s scent, neither wanting to lose the closeness. Cas suddenly became aware of his own hands hanging by his sides, fingers curling and uncurling. Dean leant back, dropping his hands to the sloping shoulders, and used his calloused hands to wipe the damp cheeks. He peered into Cas’ face, drawing eye contact. Blue on green or green on blue, the effects were always the same. Dean found himself getting calmer, forgiving everything and in spite of his doubts and all evidence to the contrary, trusting, when those bright blue eyes looked right through him to the depth of his soul, and, Castiel, well Cas could not resist those warm green eyes, with their secret smile.

They kissed again, more urgent this time. Cas put all his remorse, all his confusion, everything into the kiss, and when their lips parted a second time, Dean stood, eyes still closed, smiling faintly, before he opened them slowly and the smile became a grin. Cas waited a moment and then shyly he lifted his eyes to the ceiling in question, and Dean nodded.


	4. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t even know you,” Sam replied earnestly.
> 
> She reached up and brushed the long brown hair back from his face. “But you do know me, Sam. You’re just confused, you’ve been so ill, that’s all. I’m Amelia, we’re meant to be together, Sam.”

Sam woke again. He was dimly aware that this was not the first time he had awoken, but he was still disoriented. Gradually his sense returned, hearing came first, cicada song mingling with the steady muted rumbling of a fan, or aircon unit. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids still felt too heavy.

He wriggled toes and fingers, which responded stiffly. He felt weak as a kitten, his muscles seem to be slowly returning from a state of deep relaxation. The nearest thing he knew to this was after Jess had dragged him to a yoga class in college and instead of reaching a state of enlightenment, he had reached a state of very deep sleep, to the point of snoring quite loudly in the middle of the class. It had taken a couple of days for her to see the funny side.

He was lay in the softest of beds, smooth, crisp cotton caressed his skin from all directions. He tried to bring one lazy unco-ordinated arm from under the covers and realised it would only reach some of the way before it snapped to a halt. The bed clothes felt heavy and warm and his head felt so fuzzy he just wanted to go back to sleep, but something wasn’t right and he needed to wake up to think.

With a determined effort he opened his eyes, and saw the shadow of a ceiling fan rotating methodically across the painted plaster. He turned his head, an ancient looking table lamp stood on a nightstand, the wood gleamed that rich conker brown patina on the mahogany surface, a lace furniture protector hung prettily over the edge.

He tried to sit up, but found his muscles struggling to respond, so he rolled himself sideways and pushed one awkwardly non-responsive hand and wrist to try and raise himself. 

A cool hand touched his shoulder and pushed him effortlessly back to the pillows.

“Careful, Sam, you’ve been asleep for days,” the melodic voice soothed. She helped him scoot up the bed, one slender arm linked under his, soft blonde hair tickling his shoulder. 

He fell back into a soft nest of pillows. “I’ve brought you some food and something to drink.”

“Where…” She cut him off, placing soft gentle fingers onto his lips. “Hush now, rest and take things slow.”

He leant back into the pillows, head spinning, as she brought a glass to his lips. He drank greedily, glad of the moisture in his mouth to clear the sticky dry feeling on his tongue. 

When she turned back to reach for a bowl and spoon from the tray, he flicked his glance around the room, taking in the plumply upholstered furnishings and the heavy drapes swagging the layers of lace covering the windows. It was impossible to make out what, other than a general brightness which suggested sunlight, what lay beyond the windows.

He smiled in a way he hoped seemed charming, as he was fairly certain something was way off kilter here. He was after all, he checked quickly… and… yup…,buck-naked…in a double bed, while a beautiful blonde women fed and watered him. It might be on some men’s fantasy list, but Sam felt distinctly vulnerable and utterly on edge. He grappled with his own mind, and his last clear memory was Dean winking at him from the motel room door in … dammit, where… in the Smithson’s Motel…that was it Smithsons. Cas had been with them, they were on their way to Tuskegee. He looked at his wrist, and realised his watch was gone, just a circle of slightly less tanned skin indicating where it had been.

“Where are my things?” he asked cautiously. “This is very kind of you, but does my brother know I’m here?”

She turned her head sharply and for an instant he could have sworn he saw something under the beautiful face, but the idea was gone as quickly as it formed. Her smile was dazzling and the soft melodic voice, he could listen to that honeyed voice forever. Sam shook his head, trying to alleviate the fuzziness.

“Don’t worry Sam, it will all be OK.”

He needed to know where he was, the thought stubbornly, he needed to speak to Dean… the thoughts began to slip away. She leant in and he was mesmerised by the beautiful violet blue eyes.

Her breath was sweet and warm against his cheek, she kissed him just to the side of his mouth, eyelashes brushing his temple. She smelt of flowers. He closed his eyes and grabbed her shoulders, drawing her in as their lips met. He felt himself melting into the kiss, weak or not. She eventually sat back, tip of her tongue darting along her lips as if she was capturing the taste of him.

Suddenly he was conscious that he had to do something, something he was supposed to be doing, right now, urgently, but for the life of him he could not remember what it was.

She smiled at him and began to unbutton her blouse. Sam stopped her by closing his hand over the long strong fingers.

“Don’t you want me?” the long lashes flicked down, her lip whitening under a pinch from her own small perfect teeth.

“I don’t even know you,” Sam replied earnestly.

She reached up and brushed the long brown hair back from his face. “But you do know me, Sam. You’re just confused, you’ve been so ill, that’s all. I’m Amelia, we’re meant to be together, Sam.”

Her hand had dropped to cup his cheek now and he relaxed into her gentle touch. Of course, she was right, how could he deny their love. She stroked his face and leant in again for another long, breath-taking slow kiss. He drank her in. Her touch, her delicate floral scent and the soft, soft skin. He rolled, lifting her over his body and dropping her gently on to the bed beside him. She gripped his shoulders, firm little fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back and shoulders. He suddenly felt stronger, more vital as his arousal grew. The kisses became more passionate, as if they could not get close enough to each other to satisfy the need.

She stretched back away from him and knelt up, removing her blouse, this time unheeded. Her skin was milky white, her nipples like two perfect strawberries in a quart of cream. She pulled the bed clothes away and sat astride him, the pressure on his growing erection was amazing as she rocked against him. He smothered her in kisses, wanting to cover every inch of her milky beauty with his mouth. His hands cupped and stroked the perfect breasts, fingers tweaking the soft nipples, as she gasped and moaned and murmured into his neck and ears and mouth, alternately kissing, sucking and nibbling.

He was lost in his desire, when their reflection in the dressing table mirror caught his eye and he saw himself, his face reflected over her shoulder. Her back looked grey in the mirror. He could see wrinkles in the skin under his hands, he smelt her perfume again, and his mind snapped back to the subtle scent of the lavender as they had collected their motel keys at the check in desk.

He tensed as his brain cleared. She sensed it, and drew back from him, the disguise slipping and her real face flickered through. He stared at his own wrists and saw translucent slender loops around them, snaking away in either direction. It was these he had felt restricting his movement earlier. Realisation dawned, he was a prisoner.

The blow to his temple caught him off guard, and he slumped sideways into unconsciousness.

*********************************************************************************************************************


	5. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed and swinging under the bed, kicking the covers back and forth and humming quietly to himself, waiting, as always waiting for Dean.

Castiel perched awkwardly on the side of the bed, no matter how many times he and Dean became intimate he still struggled with the beginning. Dean, he knew, found it hard to be with a man and Cas sometimes wondered whether he ought to change vessel, just to make it easier for Dean. It was difficult to know with humans, he mused, the sight and sound of a person was so intrinsic to their love and lust. Castiel as a girl might not appeal to Dean at all. He certainly didn’t want to be relegated to some easily disposed of fancy piece.

Angels saw way beyond skin and flesh. Although Cas would be first to admit just how beautiful Dean was. He looked every bit as good as any model or work of art that Cas had ever seen, and he had seen plenty of both, male and female. To an angel it was the core of the being that held the attraction. It amazed Cas that throughout the millennia he had never fallen like this for anyone. He had respected Anna, and loved her as his leader. He and Balthazar had been as close as brothers could be. He loved and cared for Hannah as a deeply trusted ally and friend, but no-one had ever made him feel the way Dean did. No-one since the dawn of his own existence when his older brothers had shown him the first fish making it’s way from sea to land have ever made this level of emotional connection.

Chuck had told him a lot of it was down to that moment he had dragged Dean from hell, and left him with a handprint as they connected and a prophet was a prophet, even though he knew that some of what Chuck had been told had been distorted by Zachariah to suit his own purposes, he suspected this was true.

So he sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed and swinging under the bed, kicking the covers back and forth and humming quietly to himself, waiting, as always waiting for Dean.

 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************

The air around him felt charged, every molecule of his body seemed to be pulsing with pain and torment, it was a dirty swirling mess of anxiety, remorse, guilt and agony. The smell of purgatory assailed his nostrils, and the weird quality of the light, that leached all the colour from everything, to the point it seemed to drain the beauty from everything it touched. He gripped his forearm tight, and tried to curtail the roar of anguish that he thought must surely tear him in two. 

Castiel lay in the bed, listening to Dean’s steady breathing, there was so much to consider, so much that needed to be clarified, sleep was yet another luxury that humankind took for granted. He had managed it occasionally, the connection with Dean had left an imprint of so many human behaviours and triggers, that he intermittently managed to access, or suddenly took over for no apparent reason. He was infected with humanity, but he didn’t see it as a disease in the way that some of his siblings did. Cas enjoyed the quiet times, when Dean had drifted to sleep and he could lie in the semi darkness, listening to his steady breathing. It was an advantage, not to need sleep. He did like sleeping, but it was optional for him, so he often chose not to, opting instead to watch Dean, long legs tangled in bedspreads, or covers, usually face down, the handsome face relaxed and child-like as it never was when awake.

He heard the catch in the breathing first, and realised that Dean was dreaming, he reached instinctively to touch him to soothe the nightmare into a sweeter dream. He was totally unprepared for the hand that seized his throat, throwing him up and over, so that they both crashed onto the floor, with a bang that Cas felt sure must have shaken the foundations, never mind wake the whole household.

With his mojo seriously hampered by the curse, his strength was sapped and he gripped Dean’s wrists, his vision blackening under the pressure of the hands on his throat. He tried to speak, but barely a croak came out, tiny stars began to swim in the extremities of his vision, it was pitch black in the room, bar the dull gleam at the windows around the edge of the shutters. He tried in desperation to reach into Dean’s dream.

He was back in that colourless world, trapped in a whirlwind of pain and battle. He heard a voice in the maelstrom of noise and confusion, he could hear Cas screaming his name, as he had on that cursed last moment in purgatory. He squeezed harder trying to kill the leviathan, he glanced down, freezing in horror, as the sight of Cas’ face, purple and bloated, tongue protruding, eyes, bloodshot and bulging. 

He woke with a gasp of terror, and stared down at his own hands, opening his fingers and pulling his hands away. He fell away, legs scrabbling for purchase, until he crouched back to the wall, looking at his own hands in horror, still not seeing the world outside his nightmares. 

The first breath was agony, tearing Cas from inside out, but then the pain began to subside in his chest, and focussed instead in his head, as the blood pulsed through his arteries, rich, and red, replenishing the oxygen levels. He could hear Dean murmuring to himself.

He rolled onto his knees, dragging jagged painful breaths into his burning lungs. He crawled towards Dean, reaching out a single hand, still unable to speak, he managed to croak, “m’ OK.”

He swallowed and tried again. “Dean, S’OK. I’m alright. S’OK,” he could do no more than whisper, the pressure on his throat had bruised his voice. He tried to heal himself, partially successfully, and then he turned his attention to Dean, who was squatting on his haunches, back against the wall, eyes unfocussed, and haunted. This was, Cas was fairly certain, the exact opposite of the ‘calm of heart’ prescribed by Mrs Maddox.

Dean was shaking uncontrollably, Cas pulled the patchwork bedspread over them both, and healing himself as quickly as his damaged powers would allow. He put his arms around the quaking figure, making meaningless soothing noises. 

“I was killing you,” Dean said, “Killing you, I could have killed you…in my sleep…I was killing you. I didn’t know it was you.”

“Shhh, s’OK. I’m fine. You were dreaming.”

“But I could have killed you.” He was still shaking, deeply shocked. 

“It was a dream,” Cas said firmly. “Just a dream. And I’m not that easy to kill.” He took a calloused hand into his, and kissed the line of knuckles. Dean dropped his head back against the wall, breathing beginning to settle. He relaxed into the arm around his shoulders.

Cas pulled him closer, and started to lift him to his feet. “Bed,” he said firmly.  
Beginning to recover, Dean’s features twisted into a wry grin. “Any excuse…”

“Well,” Cas said, dead pan, “it might well be my last night on Earth.”

“Too soon, Cas, too soon. I…”

“Shhh, it’s done, it’s gone. It’s partly my fault, I should be more careful…”

He stood up gingerly, and then reached out his hand, “Come on,” he said gently, “Dean, come with me.”

He sat him on the lavatory, while he filled the deep iron bath with hot water, adding liberal amounts of the foamy toiletries he found on the shelf above the sink. Dean was quiet and unresisting, which troubled Cas far more than anything other reaction he could have had. He tested the water temperature, it was just short of scalding, but having been stripped of his clothes and ushered into the bath, Dean barely flinched. 

Cas started with Dean’s hands, using soft circular motions his thumb to work the soap between Dean’s fingers and into the soft flesh of his palms and moved up the muscular forearms and shoulders with the sponge, rinsing at each stage, and then methodically moving on, cleansing him with careful ministrations. Gradually, slowly, the haunted look began to lift, and Dean began to relax physically, but he was still somewhere else, closed down, eyes unseeing. 

Cas began to hum and sing to himself, a tuneless rendition of Highway to Hell, lifting Dean’s left leg and washing between his toes. Dean blinked and jerked his foot back. 

“Tickles,” he snapped. Smiling, Cas flicked him a glance under his lashes, tightened his grip on Dean’s ankle and very deliberately did it again.

Green eyes narrowed, and the pouting lips pursed slightly. Cas gave a small sigh of relief, and released Dean’s foot, which dropped into the bath and splashed them both. Dean breathed in deeply and slid under the water, re-emerging, he shook the water from his hair and wiped a weary hand over his face. The borrowed flannel pyjama top Cas was wearing slipped open, and for the first time Dean noticed the bruising, the pained expression returned. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lip had a mind of it’s own and began to tremble slightly, so that he did not trust himself to say anything without his voice breaking.

“You were dreaming,” Cas said matter-of-factly. “It’s OK. Purgatory was never intended for a human soul.” He reached out and tipped Dean under the chin, drawing eye contact, and refusing to let him retreat into self-recrimination. “You are not to blame….” He paused, acknowledging the truth to himself for the first-time. “…no more than I am. You were right Dean, punishing yourself is stupid… and self-indulgent… and we both do it, everytime, and we’ll probably both do it again…”

Dean sighed heavily again, biting his lip. He sniffed hard, swallowed and cleared his throat, before very slowly lifting the sponge from its position floating in the soapy surface of the water, and using it to soak the front of the ridiculous flannel pyjamas. His face twisted into a wry grin of amusement at the gasp it elicited. “Tickle my feet, murder my music, suffer the consequences,” he drawled, feeling some of the tension slipping away. 

 

****************************************************************************************************************************

Mrs Maddox had heard the thud from the room upstairs, she listened intently for a moment, before returning her attention to the chest of drawers. She pulled the linens aside, and reached for the false draw bottom. The tiny silver arrows glinted in the moonlight. She hoped she would not need to use them. The rest of the family all had weapons of their own, but she had never needed weapons. As her father had been so fond of telling her, her mind was a far greater gift than anything else he could bestow. She had been his favourite, she knew that, but this was as much a burden as a privilege.

And now, she would be drawn out to fight again, after years of carefully avoiding the squabbling and in-fighting, she was going to be drawn into a scrap, and this cosy lifestyle she had created would quite probably be destroyed. Her only hope was that she would be able to avoid re-awakening the spirit that lurked in Ella-Mae. She was far sweeter as a child, than she ever was as a capricious adult.

She flexed her fingers, and reached deeper into the draw, fingers closing around the small silver bow, with a sigh. If the worst came to the worst, she would have to allow things to take their course, and make sure that the hunter was rescued. It was only fair. She packed the items carefully into a burlap sack, and drew herself back to her full height. It would be so easy to allow the years to slip away and restore herself to her natural state, but she was so used to being Mrs Maddox, she now felt more like herself as a genteel Gramma, than she did in her true form.


	6. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They sat around the table surrounded by the remnants of the huge breakfast while Mrs Maddox related her tale. She leant forward and gently lifted Dean’s chin to close his gaping mouth. He looked utterly shell-shocked. “So… Sammy has pulled himself a goddess?” he mused. “Dirty dog.”

Sam opened his eyes and stretched his jaw. At least this time he was dressed, although he felt like a cut price Colonel Saunders. The delicate looking silver strands about his wrists, looped to the chair on which he was sat. He tested them gently, they were unbreakable. The table in front of him was set for dinner, very elegantly set in fact. 

“I’m sorry, Sam,” the sing song voice soothed him, in spite of his awareness of its magical qualities. “In time we won’t need those. You will come to love me as much as I am in love with you, we are meant to be together.” She moved into his line of vision, she appeared to be standing with the light behind her, but there was no light there to form the effect. Sam realised she was the light, her hair was a golden halo, and her hands seemed to glow, he could feel the warmth radiating from her.

***********************************************************************************************************************

Dean eyed the laden breakfast table with some suspicion. He leant towards Cas, “Are you sure she’s not fattening us up?” he uttered in a stage whisper, still taking the opportunity to fill his plate.

Cas gave him a warning glare, half amused, and shook his head.

“You boys better eat, we have a full day ahead of us,” Mrs Maddox deposited a frying pan full of bacon steaks, onto a plate in the middle of the feast. She turned back towards the stove with the pan. 

“Just don’t blame me if you end up in the oven, Gretel,” he said as an aside through a mouthful of syrupy pancake. He winced as Cas kicked him playfully under the table.

 

***********************************************************************************************************************

They sat around the table surrounded by the remnants of the huge breakfast while Mrs Maddox related her tale. She leant forward and gently lifted Dean’s chin to close his gaping mouth. He looked utterly shell-shocked. “So… Sammy has pulled himself a goddess?” he mused. “Dirty dog.”

Castiel sighed a little theatrically and rolled his eyes. Dean could be so embarrassing sometimes. 

Mrs Maddox laughed at them both. This infuriating boy and his nerdy little angel. Her eyes sparkled in the crinkly face. “In very simplistic terms, yes, Sam has pulled a goddess. She is a minor goddess in the pecking order of things.” She sighed. “We’ve been quietly living out our existences, avoiding too much trouble, spread ourselves around the world in little pockets. This town is so far off the beaten track, we get few visitors, and the general townsfolk don’t seem to notice us much, we let ourselves age, and then ‘die’ and the next generation conveniently arrive to take over the inheritance or arrive as long lost relatives and we start again. Some have become Gods in other religions or been refreshed with new believers. But generally we keep ourselves under the radar and do no harm…”

She smiled at Dean’s raised eyebrows. “Yes, yes, some have gone rogue, or are doomed to carry on with practices that bring them to the attention of hunters. I bear you no malice for dealing with them, if we survive tomorrow you may well be dealing with others. My father and his brothers are no longer the powers they once were, and I have no taste for vengeance. The others, well it’s all a little ‘Days of Our Lives’. My family is full of infighting and sexual intrigue.”

She paused, a sad look passing across her face. “Which bring us to Aurora. It’s not her fault, it’s sad. She fell in love, with Mars. They had an affair. I love him for all his faults, but he is impetuous and foolish and easily tempted. Venus may be the goddess of love, but there is nothing lovely about her when crossed, instead of being angry with him, she cursed Aurora. She is doomed to fall in love, easily and headlong.”

“She begged my father to make her first true love immortal, which he did, but she forgot to ask for him to stay forever young, so he aged, undying and withering away. She turned him into a cicada, and now, she’s trapped forever repeating the cycle.”

“Since we settled here it’s not been a problem. She lives a lifetime with each new love, grieves at his passing and then the cycle begins again. They’ve all fallen headlong for her, too. She avoids having children. Demi-gods are a complication we really don’t need, and a few more cicada in North Carolina is hardly a problem.”

“So, what happens to Sam now. Does she go bunny boiler? Turn him into Jiminy Cricket? What? And where do you fit in all this?” 

Castiel looked smug. “Dean,” he said proudly, “this is Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom. She is quite simply a brilliant strategist. There’s no-one better to help us plan our attack.”

Dean looked at him, his brow furrowing, anxiety making him angry, little red patches forming on his cheeks. “Ok fangirl, when did you forget your angelic roots and start worshiping pagan idols?”

“Dean! Show some resp…”

She quietened him with a supplicating gesture of her hand. “Dean deserves an explanation, Castiel. He was a soldier, Dean, and I still have a certain influence in proximity, even though I am no longer worshipped in quite the same way, I am still respected. You have felt it yourself, I foster obedience amongst those trained or inclined towards discipline. Your father raised you to be a good little soldier. To follow orders, those instincts grow in my presence.”

“As for Aurora, she is the goddess of the dawn, millennia ago, she caused chaos kidnapping princes and heroes. Eventually they all fell for her charms, but Sam is a hunter. Hunters do not belong to the dawn, they belong to the moon, to Diana I really did not think that Aurora would be so foolish to mess with another Goddess. I would have thought that being doomed to spend eternity falling for mortals would be lesson enough for anyone. Diana will not settle for her stealing a hunter if she finds out.”

“Great,” Dean said, “let’s find Diana and let her know.”

Cas and Mrs Maddox exchanged knowing looks, short of patting him on the head, they could not have been more condescending. Dean bridled. “What?!” he snapped.

“Diana is already here,” Cas smiled. Dean turned looking about the room, before his eyes alighted on Ella-Mae, engrossed in her colouring books in the adjacent room and realisation dawned. “Just great! So our main ally is a five year old girl with a thing for wings.”

Cas blushed slightly as Mrs Maddox laughed. “Beautiful as you are, Dean Winchester, I can’t imagine how he resists the urge to put you in your place.” Cas went an even deeper shade of red and averted his eyes. “Oh,” she smiled. “I see.”

Dean glared at them both. “Sam?!” he snapped. “Let’s focus people, how do we rescue Sam?”

“Diana is tricky,” Mrs Maddox declared. “She is capricious and inclined to be a little spiteful. We would be better letting her be. I have her weapons, we can use those to kill Aurora if she won’t relinquish her hold on Sam. I am still hoping that she will see reason, but Venus' curse is a powerful one. I can’t reverse it, wisdom does not have a great success rate when matched against love.”


	7. The Night Before the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh I already know where they are Dean, today you take a crash course in archery.”
> 
> “Awesome,” Dean said sarcastically, glancing anew at the fragile looking bow with a look of distrust. “Who’s gonna hold the apple?”

Sam was thinking desperately. He had been left to his own devices after the elaborate dinner. Amelia had left, taking her leave politely and elaborately, like a true Southern Belle, as if this morning, Sam was guessing it was this morning, had not happened. He was no longer chained to a bed which was something, but he could still see the glittering gossamer of his shackles. Focussing on them for too long gave him a headache, and they shimmered in and out of his vision like a heat haze. He had explored the entire house, and could not find a door to the outside world, it was like an Escher drawing, every room seemed to lead back to its neighbour, in a never-ending twist of reality. It was all very tricksteresque, but Gabriel was dead, and it didn’t entirely fit with his MO, anyway.

As for Amelia, she was hard to resist, but she was no succubus, despite her clear desire, she’d not come to him in his sleep initially, he wasn’t dreaming he didn’t think anyway. She sure as hell wasn’t a demon, and he did not think she was an angel. He went through, discounting things in his mind, missing his laptop, and phone. She was unidentifiable and he was beginning to wonder with the radiated power whether he was dealing with a god. It was a dead end, at present, so he turned to escape.

It must be possible to leave, after all, Amelia was clearly not here. He had tried to push his way through net curtains at the window, and they looked out onto waving meadows of long grass in all directions, the sky an improbably perfect blue stretching to a limitless horizon, where a hazy whiteness marked the meeting of ground and sky. 

Sam suspected that this was not the real view from the other sides of the walls, it certainly bore no resemblance to the small town and its surroundings. The grass did not break, he had tried, it resisted any amount of attack, as did the plaster walls. He continued methodically testing and trying every possible which way, looking for a weak spot. He had no watch to tell how time was going. There was a huge old clock in the hall, its tick resonated through the rooms, but Sam was wary of trusting it. 

The floor of the hallway was laid with flagstones, the walls heavily panelled with a rich honey coloured wood. Pictures hung on the walls, each a different man, it had the feel of an old English country house, with generations worth of paintings, but there seemed little family resemblance between the pictures, although the name plates all said Smithson.

Eventually, feeling exhausted and a little dejected at his lack of progress, he lay back on the bed, thinking and trying to come up with a plan.

***********************************************************

“Really?” Dean stared at the silver bow and arrow slightly incredulously. “Can’t we use a stake or silver bullets, does it have to be a silver arrow?”

Mrs Maddox smiled at him with slight impatience beginning to show. “Yes, nothing else will stop her. We need a God weapon and unless you have something else…”

“What about the angel blade?”

She paused, thinking. “It’s never been tried,” she admitted. She looked questioningly at Cas. 

He shrugged, “It works on angels and demons, it didn’t work on me, when I was God,” he looked bashfully at Mrs Maddox, who patted his hand reassuringly, causing Dean to roll his eyes. “A pagan god, though? I don’t know. It will certainly slow her down.”

Mrs Maddox bit her lip in consideration. “We cannot take the risk,” she decided, “but we can use the angel blade to our advantage. We need the moon’s power in the sky at dawn to give us an edge, ideally we would strike during a solar eclipse in the dawn hours, but they don’t obligingly come along on cue. Tomorrow is as good as we’ll get this lunar cycle, and given a whole month, she may well break down his resistance.”

“So if we can locate them today, we can attack tomorrow,” Dean said.

“Oh I already know where they are Dean, today you take a crash course in archery.”

“Awesome,” Dean said sarcastically, glancing anew at the fragile looking bow with a look of distrust. “Who’s gonna hold the apple?”

*********************************************************************************

Sam woke with a start. The room was in total darkness and when he tried to sit up he realised he was restrained again. He lay unmoving, listening to see if he was alone. He had spent so many of his thirty odd years sharing a room with Dean that he sometimes found it unnerving to wake in a strange place alone. Not that he would ever dream of confessing it to his brother. 6’5” in his stockinged feet it was bad enough to have to admit to being afraid of clowns.

He shuddered at the thought of them. He’d found himself in worse predicaments that this. And he was not entirely unused to attempted seductions. It happened when you were a hunter, not every monster wanted to kill and/or eat you, some things wanted to fuck you first.

Satisfied he was alone, he began to gently explore the bindings. They were so slender, he could not feel them, but they were firm. They did not cut or pull, just stopped all movement. He wriggled upwards from his current position lay flat out on the bed, scrunching the covers around his feet as he scrabbled for purchase. It must be some kind of spell, he thought hard. The last time he had seen anything like them was the binding spell they’d used on death. Those had been broken with a mere click of Cas’ fingers, well Cas with a God complex.

The Cas of now was a very different animal. Penitent, and quieter. He and Dean had already been arguing plenty. Dean was convinced there was something off about Cas, whereas to Sam he seemed just his usual unworldly, oddly nerdy self.

He wished they would sort their shit out and stop hiding away from one another. Not that it was exactly Cas’ fault. Dean was an infuriating son of a bitch, at the best of times, and he was far from at his best since his return from purgatory.

Sam knew he was mad with him for not coming looking. He flushed with guilt. It had not even occurred to him that Dean wouldn’t be coming for him now, not once. Yet he had left his brother and settled down to a normal life with his own Amelia, not this god bitch. He felt a twinge of loss at the thought of her.

He wriggled around again, realising that he was beginning to feel a pressure on his bladder. As he acknowledged the need, he thought he felt a little give in the bindings. Subtle and so slight, he wondered if he’s imagined it. So he concentrated again, and his arms came free. “Huh?!” he said aloud, incredulous that things could be so simple.

He moved quickly to the bathroom.

*****************************************************************************

 

The arrows were scattered amongst the long grass at the end of the field. “Clear,” Mrs Maddox shouted, and Ella Mae scampered down the field, whooping and skipping in delight. She ran back, blonde locks streaming behind her and gave the arrows to Dean, who stowed them back in the quiver. She smiled up at him now, as if he were somehow responsible for this great new game.

“At least the radius over which the arrows are scattered is reducing,” Cas said drily as Dean squinted at the untouched wooden bale they had set up as a target.

“You wanna try do any better, Maid Marion, be my damned guest!”

Mrs Maddox laughed, and Cas blinked hard, before narrowing his eyes and glaring back. “I was trying to be constructive and encouraging,” he said flatly.

“Yeah, well… just don’t.” Dean glared at them both, his fingers were throbbing with repeatedly drawing the thin string and his arm ached where the bow had snapped tight into his inner arm, leaving vivid purple and red bruises, despite the leather arm guard.

“Could we use a normal crossbow, do you think?” Cas mused. “Or maybe I should try, or even you,” he turned towards Mrs Maddox.

“I’ll get there,” Dean growled. “We need you to get Sam out. Concentrate on fixing your mojo enough to zap, and I’ll worry about my job.”

Mrs Maddox opened her mouth to speak, but they all turned simultaneously as they heard the very particular swish and twang of the bow, followed by the previously unheard muted thump as the arrow buried dead centre in the straw. All three stared, two open mouthed, the third with a sigh at the tiny blonde archer. She dropped the bow and skipped to Dean, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

“I likes you now,” she informed him matter of factly. “I’ll show you how.”

Cas shrugged as he caught the old lady’s eye. “He can’t get any worse,” he said.

“I heard that, Lily White,” Dean mumbled before allowing himself to be dragged back into position.

***************************************************

The sun set slowly behind the barn, the last lingering rays highlighting it’s edges a brilliant gold. The cicadas were singing louder than ever tonight. Dean shuddered a little. 

He breathed in the scent of the fields and was transported back to one long hot Summer, when Dad had left them with some distant old Aunt, who lived on her own farmstead. She’d pretty much ignored the two boys and they had roamed all over, fishing and playing on an old rope swing, ending the day lying in the long grass until as per her only stipulation, they came in once the hoppers started singing. 

Sam had been three or four, little more than a toddler. They’d shared a big bed in an old attic room and Dean had lain each night, listening to the old house creaking. She had been furious, when after about a week, she had found the lines of salt along the window sills and under the doorway. The discovery of the missing fire iron under the bolster on the old bed had tipped her over the edge, and Dad had arrived the next morning.

He pulled away from the old farmstead, Dean watching him warily from the passenger seat, only to swing off the road a mile or so later, his stubbled face breaking into a wide grin. He ruffled the scruffy mop of hair affectionately and explained proudly to his 8 year old boy, that not everyone understood the precautions he’d taken, and impressing on him, just when and how to deceive and who to lie to.

Dean could still see his Dad’s smile, a rare moment to bask in his approval while Sam played with his toy soldiers in the back seat, blissfully unaware.  
The screen door clattered back loudly and drew him back from his reverie. Cas was carrying yet another tray of iced tea, and Mrs Maddox followed behind. They all three set to refining and finalising the plans.

******************************************************

Sam wandered around the darkened rooms, the windows were black now, no light crept through the glass, just nothingness. All he could see was his own reflection eerily lit from the faint glow given off by the bindings. He had found that by concentrating on the fact that he needed to walk, but couldn’t see, they gave off just enough light to move around without walking into things. He was experimenting to see what else they would do.

He’d focussed really hard on fresh air, and the Impala, but to be honest, he had doubted that bindings could open doors or provide an escape route. He stood stretching his massive shoulders, feeling the crack and pull as he relieved the tension. He tentatively examined the sore patches on his skull from the knockout blows, but neither was much beyond a severe bruise. He began thinking about making a weapon, or maybe just overpowering her, but the bindings shortened and closed his arms together, so he concentrated again on the need to move and they relinquished.

He sighed in frustration. He just had to keep fresh, keep safe and wait on Dean and Cas.

*****************************************************************

The Impala rolled slowly into the car park behind the motel. Dean had only briefly questioned the location, before relinquishing to Mrs Maddox’s quiet and steady insistence. He killed the lights and coasted to a halt.

Ella Mae was utterly unphased at being pulled from her bed and taken on a road trip in the big black car. She had sat quietly stroking the leatherette seat with her delicate little hands. Dean smiled at her and she smiled back at him happily. Throwing herself over the back of the front seat, snuggling down between Cas and Dean, her hands reflexively curling round their forearms. Dean winced as the sharp little fingers caught the bruises on his arm. He had point blank refused to allow Cas to ‘waste’ his grace.

He glanced at Cas, the earnest face, quietly focussed and serious. He was now back in his customary suit and trenchcoat. They shared a swift look. Message understood. He was healed enough.

Dean checked his phone. 5am. 23 minutes until dawn. The moon was low on the horizon, and the dark sky was lightening rapidly, casting the black into deep purple and gradually diminishing the brightness of the stars.


End file.
